


Come Inside

by cuntoid



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, Other, Possession, Ritual, Summoning, demon fuck, dissociative sex, dubcon, everything gets a little skewy when you're talkin shapeshifting demon sex, eyemouth, how can i tag this seriously tbh, invisible dick, light cum, make a deal, noncon, this is just really evil and cursed and if you want to get uncomfortably aroused come on in, what the FUCK are these TAGS BITCH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14273862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: What better to do on a late night than fuck with the occult?





	Come Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Bless everyone that commissions me for things I love. One may ask themselves: how could anyone really write pornography about a flying shape in a cartoon? And to that I say, for the second time now: fucking watch me, coward

It’s not a Friday night without a date – and you aren’t getting ready for this particular date without some liquid courage.

You watch yourself in the mirror as you bring a bottle to your lips and dip back for a healthy swig, shuddering at the tingling burn chasing down your throat and warming your stomach. A  _date_  – that’s possibly the loosest term to use for what you’re planning to do, but it feels fun to think of it as such. Less scary and silly.

Spread on the floor are several things, a jumble of superstition and intent laid out before you as you nervously sip at the booze and shift from one foot to the other. A ouija board, candles, salt. Silk ribbons that give off a dull shine in the lighting, kept intentionally dim with the full moon serving as the true beacon. You’re not sure exactly what to expect. Lovingly arranged around the board are totems to charge your purpose – to summon. Sprigs of pine, a pair of thrifted old reading glasses, and an old emo hoodie from your youth are only a few of the items scattered about, bathed in the soft blue light and filling the room with an energy that you’re not sure is real or imagined. Regardless, it fills you with excitement for the things to come.

Finally settled, the ghost of the alcohol warming you from the inside out, you place the planchette in the center of the board and frame it with outstretched fingers. The angles form a triangle.

You murmur an incantation, stumbling over some of the words as a tremor zips up your spine in anticipation. Once you touch the planchette, the entire room feels like static. You can sense it in the tiny hairs along your arms, standing to attention. You can taste it. It’s like telephone wires buzzing in the core of your body, persistent, flowing through your veins like molten silver, and you slowly spell out the letters of the demon’s keeper:

 _A-X-O-L-O-T-L_.

The planchette glows blue like the hearts of glaciers, thrumming beneath your fingers as the tiny window embedded in the wood glosses over an inky black, so void of light that staring into it is like staring into an abyss. And then, in a poetic show of inevitability, it stares  _back_.

An eye peers up at you and you snatch your fingers away, giving a little shriek as you tumble outside of the salted circle and it starts  _laughing_. It lifts in volume until it feels like the very foundations of your home are shaking with it, manic, shrieking with triumph as it gains form. Angles come together and a triangle sears itself into this realm with an indescribable sound akin to ripping, forcing itself into existence where it shouldn’t be, and you stare in shock at this one-eyed geometric horror emerging from between the veils.

Looking at it is almost painful; it’s like his presence is broken up, too great for your eyes to handle on their own, and so you see him as two-  _and_  three-dimensional all at once. Triangle over pyramid, flat over sharp, every inch glimmering liquid gold like the sun. The slit of its pupil slices over your figure as you sit frozen to the floor, throat constricted as you hold your breath and watch the thing rise up into the center of the room to leer down at you, awfully expressive for lacking any real facial features but that huge, horrible eye.  _An all-seeing eye._

“The… the eye of providence?”

Each peal of laughter sends veins of shifting blue light over his form. Goosebumps crawl over your flesh like a disease, a sudden wave of revulsion shaking you down to your core, making your eyes water, your tongue once again useless behind your teeth.

“ _Oh_ , you humans and your colorful  _names!_  Flattering, kid, real flattering – call me  _Bill Cipher_. What can I call  _you? Look at you._ ” He whistles low and glides through the air to have a closer look, limbs nearly dragging along the floor like spider-legs before he reaches up to pinch the hem of your shorts. “What were you planning on conjuring dressed like  _this_ , huh?”

“I  _wasn’t_ … I thought I’d  _talk_  to something, n-not - I mean, it’s just a oujia board –”

“A doorway’s a doorway, dollface! I’m  _here_ , and I’m ready to cause a little chaos!”

It’s disorienting to look at him, to try to wrap your mind around his presence, his form, his melodic voice filtering through several tones at once in some ungodly harmony that vibrates in your teeth and pools low in your belly. His giggling worms up through you like bile, resting heavy on the back of your tongue and threatening to gag you with the sheer terror of it. He is so unnatural, so unlike anything you could have imagined. He floats past the salted barrier and you feel the first true lick of fear.

The demon hums, eye narrowing as his fingers dip under the soft, flimsy fabric and stroke down your naked flesh, down, down, down until he hooks them under the bend of your knee to feel the silky skin hiding beneath. His touch is there and it  _isn’t_ ; there aren’t any words fit to describe what it’s like to be touched by something that can barely hold its form in your reality, whose image shivers and pops like static on the radio, like the warbling sounds stretching between heavenly bodies in space.

“ _Aww, sweetheart_  – you thought your little  _mineral_   _deposit_  would stop me! Are you  _really_  under the impression that you have any semblance of control?  _C'mon_. Admit it. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing. Salt? Candles? And is that – what’s that delicious smell? Blood…? No,  _sweeter_  than that…  _hotter_ , too…”

He creeps so close that the heat blazing off his form pulls beads of sweat up through your skin, desperate to cool you in the face of hellfire incarnate, the endlessly deep fissure of his pupil unraveling each and every nerve. His eye slides over your body and turns a ghastly shade of red, widening, a yawning void that you can practically feel groping each curve and contour.

“ _Ohohoho_ , you’ve  _got_  to be kidding me!  _Ha!_  I haven’t had the pleasure of knowing  _this_  particular scent for too long, kid, far too long!” His eye rolls back and flutters shut as he takes an exaggerated sniff of the air, fingers still wrapped around one leg and hovering readily over the other. He opens his eye once more, clean of that awful, glowing red, and you have the strange idea that he wants to wink at you – you can see it in your mind’s eye even though he only has one, even though he is physically incapable of doing such a thing. And yet you know intrinsically that he has. “Is  _this_  why you’re messin’ with the occult, doll? Little desperate thing, all alone and needing a good fuck? You have  _no idea_  what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

You cringe away from his biting laughter and two more arms appear from thin air, cradling your head as you attempt to lean back and scoot away. Two hands pulling your thighs apart, two hands stroking their thumbs along your cheekbones. Utterly fucking trapped by this…  _thing_. In your ribcage, your heart does its best to escape, beating so furiously that the sound fills your ears, ticking in your core like a timer to your undoing. All the blood seems to rush straight to that traitorous place between your thighs, swollen with sensation, with the urge to buck forward even though he hasn’t done anything but restrain you.

Bill squeezes his fingers as his cackling dies off into a hum and there’s a sensation behind your eyes, deep in the back of your head, like a thread snapping in two. This tiny, curious pluck sends a shiver down your spine that feels like ice water, filling you with some strange new awareness of Bill’s body, a new appreciation for the way his form comes together. Everything makes  _sense_. You can taste your own metallic fear on the back of your tongue like a load of cyanide and there’s this fuzzed-over feeling in your brain that comes in strange, stroke-like waves, clipped episodes of discomfort that make you want to shake your head in his grip.

“What’s happening to me?” Your voice comes out softer than you want it to be, threaded with uncertainty like cracked glass. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just having a little  _look-see,_  toots. Checking out your mind. Sit tight – I’m sure you know a thing or two about being  _tight_ , don’tcha?”

“Having a look?”

“That’s right – you invited me in with your cute little ritual, remember? Is this not what you had in mind when you decided to fish for a  _monster_  to  _penetrate_  you?”

“ _I_   _didn’t_  – ”

“Don’t lie to  _me_ , sweet cheeks. I can see it all in here, written in red – or should I say, written in hot,  _pulsing_  pink?”

The way your cunt contracts steals your breath away, left only with the barest hint of a whine, and Bill grows until his eye is the only thing in a sea of slick, opulent gold, a gilded prison in which you now find yourself. It’s an absolute void, an eternal yellow-brick road, and even with his proverbial fingers knuckle-deep in your brain, the dysphoria is staggering.  _How? How is he_   _doing this?_

“I know, I know – you’re having trouble holding on, huh? That’s it,  _clutch at me_ , doll. Hold on for dear fucking life!  _Hahaha… listen_. I wanna take mercy on ya. I want to make a  _deal_.”

Quivering and lost in whatever this is, whatever illusion –

“ _Not_  an illusion. Not a trick,” Bill chastises you, clucking a nonexistent tongue. “You know it. I’m a god, remember? I can do anything.  _A n y t h i n g._ ”

His voice burrows into the marrow of your bones and tingles in your enamel, it beckons to some lost primal instinct screaming at you to get away from him, that he’s absolutely fucking dangerous. You ache with the urge to run, held prone and spread open and lost in the malleable, seemingly infinite planes of his form. He doesn’t adhere to the rules of your universe.

“ _Please don’t hurt me,_ ” you whine. You want to be strong, but it’s so hard when you can feel him sifting through the frayed edges of your thoughts, pulling them apart to look at their intentions and whispers of  _other_  thoughts, memories, treasured private things buried in the recesses. “ _Wh-what deal? What can I do?_ ”

Bill’s pleasure flows down into you with sudden and surprising force, drawing an embarrassing moan from your throat and stirring the warmth pulsing forgotten between your thighs. Every part of you drowns in sensation. The slit of his eye twitches in a twin-beat with your cunt and his voice enters your ears and crawls beneath your skin.

“I’ll give you  _exactly_  what you came for – a good,  _hard_ ,  _sacrilegious fucking_. All I need from you is your permission for me to  _come_   _inside_.”

“To… to come inside?” Your thoughts race and melt together, tinged yellow, acrid like smoke. “That’s  _all_  you want?”

“ _That’s_   _it_ , honey – just let Bill inside, let me come in, and I’ll show you  _fireworks_. I’ll give you everything you could want. I’ll make you cum again and  _again and again_ , til you’re  _crying_ , til you look so goddamn miserable with it I’ll wanna cheer you up with  _more_.  _Do we have a deal?_ ”

The sea of yellow retracts in a clean, wet pop, and Bill is once again an entity in your bedroom, one hand outstretched to yours. It ignites, haloed by delicate blue flames that lick enticingly toward you. Shame mingles with desire like light, and you know he has you exactly where he wants you, caught up in the charm of the unknown. The sensation of his fingers sliding over your palm sends tiny, crackling sparks into the air on contact, and once you succumb to his grip, it’s all over – the feeling of his poring over the contents of your mind is nothing compared to  _this_. It burns in a way that no balm could ease, so deep under your skin that it may as well be in your bones, screaming,  _twisting_ , pushing itself into every cell that comprises your body.

And then it ends, settling into a low roil between your thighs, where you want him the most. But  _how?_  How is he going to keep up his end? All he offers you is his severe angles, the wide, knowing eye, the facets of his body not meant to fulfill his end of the deal, and it’s the first inkling that you’ve been –

“ _Tricked?_ ” Bill pushes your legs even further apart, clothes unmaking themselves into piles of unraveled fabric and thread. “Doubting me already – that’s  _not_  how lasting relationships work! Trust me, doll, you  _gotta_  trust me. Let me kiss it better, huh?”

Teeth chitter up from the edges of his eye, lining it like macabre lashes as they sprout stiffly up and his eyeball rolls back to reveal another endless abyss of darkness. From that void comes a long, monstrous tongue, soft and pink and writhing as it tastes your inner thigh. There’s nowhere to recoil; you’re made to suffer the grotesque thing inching up your flesh until it dives unceremoniously between the lips of your cunt and against your clit, lapping in sloppy, lazy licks.

It’s impossible to tell whether Bill’s joining with your mind has enhanced sensation or if he’s just  _that_  good, but within seconds you’re throwing your head back and trying desperately to buck against the alien organ, craving the electric thrill of him there, bringing forth a hot rush of pleasure that bleeds into every inch of skin from flushed throat to trembling thighs.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you sigh, and upon closing your eyes, you can still  _see_. It’s more of a spectral framework, but through Bill and his influence, you see the room in startling detail. He magnifies  _everything_ , allows you to peek out from his powerful lens at your own gorgeous form with a view from above, melting underneath his ministrations and buffed by the tiny breaths between laughs. “ _Oh my god_ …”

“That’s  _exactly_  what I like to hear,” he growls, voices echoing choral from his monstrous face. The rumble coming in the wake of his words tips you over the edge and you cum as multicolored sparks fly behind your eyelids to stain your otherworldly, gifted vision, a kaleidoscope of your submission dancing in the air like confetti, like glitter, and then… time both rewinds and continues forward. The peak of your orgasm rushes back into you before settling into the needy, pulsing simmer it was at before, on the brink. He starts your climax over and you gape at him, his tongue rolling back into the false mouth before his eye is once again trained on you, on your soaked pussy, needing release all over again as though it never happened. There’s no hint of the tingling overstimulation that usually happens after, no sign of refractory period. “I  _am_  your god. You’re just my little  _finger_   _puppet!_ ”

His fingers pump into you three at once, no preparation for the way it stretches you open. His lid lowers over the shining orb of his eye in appreciation, your whines lifting up through the air like delicate strands of smoke, whirling shapelessly toward the ceiling as they come with each thrust. He hums, chuckles, crooks the fingers until he’s milking another hard climax from you. This time, it’s his name that’s shamelessly pouring from your mouth, it’s your gratitude –  _thank you, oh my god, oh fuck, thank you, thank you, please, Bill_ – it spills over your lips like rosary beads, like prayers. Bill’s pride shines through you like a beacon.

“You’re a  _pliable_  little fucktoy, aren’tcha? Could get used to this! You fleshbags usually bore me, but  _this_ …  _uh-uh_ , you’re a keeper. You’re my  _special little girl – ohohohh!_  That make you a little  _hot_ , princess? Yeah? Maybe I should take  _these_  away.”

His fingers come out with an obscene, wet pop, and you protest their loss immediately. “ _No!_  Wait,  _wait_ , just – put ‘em back, just for a sec – don’t stop, don’t stop  _now!_ ”

That eye goes roiling, angry red again, edged in that brilliant yellow that doesn’t come across the same through the ordinary human gaze, and those slippery fingers circle your throat to squeeze your air off instead. Where pleasure is enhanced, pain is an entirely different creature, filled with so much more unpleasantness, so much more awareness of the potential damage. You can barely whistle a breath through your throat as he glares down at you. His gaze alone brings goosebumps up, chasing over your ribs and breasts, hardening your nipples.

“There’s only  _one_  way this is gunna go, kid, and that’s  _my way_. Your  _god_  – remember? Do you need a real reminder of why I’m a big fucking deal, the  _biggest_  deal the multiverse has to offer? Ungrateful brat. Seems like you haven’t had your  _fill_  of me yet… let’s fix that.”

Nothing about Bill physically changes, but with the barest buck of his hips, your cunt is filled, impaled painfully down on a cock you can’t see. Your human mind and sensibilities still haven’t the resources to figure this one out – it’s simply  _happening_ , your shrieks caught in your lungs like frightened butterflies as it rears back and plunges again into your body, your walls tightening around it with a violent and quick orgasm. The way your muscles clench down is searing and so,  _so good_ , body shaking with the effort of humping pitifully back against the way it drives mercilessly into you again and again.

“That’s right, babydoll,  _there we go_. Oh,  _what_  was that?  _Speak up! Mmm_ , what’s the matter –  _demon_  got your tongue?” He roars with laughter, red draining from his features and fingers relaxing so he can drink in each ragged moan finally freed from your throat. “Keep it  _coming_ , that’s  _good_. So helpless! So good all of a sudden, so  _obedient_. You miss my mouth, honey?”

The teeth come back longer and sharper, edging down against your skin and sinking into it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And through the needle-sharp, excruciating pricks of pain, you cum for him again. He’s sloppy, moving sporadically over your shoulder, breasts, ribs, and leaving his mark. Beads of blood decorate you like you’re a delicacy, a sacrifice fit for a god like Bill. The thought gives both of you immeasurable pleasure and your moans mingle in the heated air.

Floating. In the midst of the constant, sweet sting of pain in the fog of your pleasure, he levitates you both so that you’re suspended in it, nothing between your physical forms but cum and blood and sweat, saliva glancing your bottom lip and falling forgotten to the carpet. It might be embarrassing in a different life, being fucked well enough to drool; but  _here_ , under something as mysterious and powerful as Bill, it feels natural.  _Of course_  you drool for him,  _of course_  you cum on command. Of course. You  _belong_  to him, so why shouldn’t he see fit to  _pet_  his new pet?

“ _That’s the ticket,_ ” he grits through those teeth. It’s still strange to watch him writhe and remain solid at the same time, bucking his hips that aren’t really hips, fucking you deliciously open with a cock that isn’t a cock. “Gunna fill you with light, hot stuff. You want that?  _You_ _wanna_   _make a god_   _cum?_ ”

Hands appear from nothingness, crawling over your body in every conceivable place, stroking, pinching, rucking your shirt up and off with hundreds of slim fingers. The air is ripe with sound of how wet you are, of the choral growl building its crescendo so that it vibrates in your very core. There’s a telltale throbbing in your cunt and his cock swells a last aching time before he’s roaring viciously enough that fear rushes to the forefront and you pull uselessly away from the hands. There isn’t so much as a budge and, pushed by adrenaline, you cum by surprise and join him as you glow from the inside. It shoots through your skin as warm and ecstatic as the sun. You can smell it, taste it on your tongue, sweet and bright and fresh, otherworldly. There isn’t a sense that isn’t stimulated.

“ _Take my cum_  – there you go! Good little human! Good,  _obedient fuckslut_ , the perfect toy to take along with me. The perfect  _vessel_  –  _fuck_ , you cum  _hard_ , don’t you? I could get used to this, baby, real goddamn used to it.”

“ _Yes! Yes, please, thank you, th-thank you…_ ” Praise leaves your lips in soft murmurs until he snakes two of his fingers between your lips to soothe you quiet, the feeling of fullness in your pussy slowly fading until there’s nothing but ache, nothing but light misting impossibly up from your sore cunt like fireflies, like milky, shining galaxies, suspended higher and higher until it evaporates into nothing.

“No, thank  _you_ ,” he amends, pulling back his various limbs until he’s once more at a standard two. His eye narrows thoughtfully as he swirls in fingers over your tongue, tracing cool lines of ice over it like magic. “Now that I’ve fulfilled  _my_  end, it’s  _your_  turn to pay up!”

“ _Wait_ … but, you – that was your  _cum_ , right? You  _came_. You came inside me like you asked…” He allows you to pull his fingers out of your mouth, spine stiffening with forgotten fear. “We’re both fulfilled, it’s  _done_.”

“I sure let you  _believe_  that, didn’t I, honey?  _Oho_ , you cute thing, you naïve  _animal_. I didn’t mean  _cum_  inside! Oh, no no  _no!_  I’m going to  _come inside you_  and  _borrow your body_. I need a vessel, and like I said –  _what a vessel it is!_ Open up, kid – Daddy’s coming in!”

“Wait,  _no_  – ”

Bill’s fingers are back in your mouth and in the back of your throat, gagging you til tears spring to your eyes, and then everything seems to  _twist_. There’s a sense of disintegrating and disappearing, like a glitch, spotty discomfort that takes your mind with it as you black out.

It lasts minutes or decades before becoming fully conscious again in the middle of your floor, naked with sweat and blood cooling on your skin. The air is silent, finally rid of that incessant buzz that accompanied the demon during its visit.

A quick glance around confirms his absence. Muscles in your thighs protest, already trying to keep you tethered and resting, as you lift to your feet and pick everything up. Your intention is to dump it to the side of your bed in an unruly pile before going straight to sleep, but you find yourself drawn to a mirror before pulling the sheets back. It’s a pull you can’t ignore, wanting to see the damage, the lace of teeth and blood criss-crossing over each other up and down your body. It looks just as brutal as it feels in the glass, tender when you run your fingers over it.

As you run a hand through your hair and give yourself one last look, you see it – your eyes, glimmering a mischievous, fiery gold, and without your prompting, you wink at yourself.


End file.
